


Triskelion

by Araceil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS AT THE TOP OF SAID CHAPTERS, Carving up Canon for Juicy bits, Child Abuse, Child Soldiers, Drama, Humour, Hutts, I know I have, Jedi, M/M, Magic is the Force, Mandalorians - Freeform, Not Qui-Gon friendly, Philosophy is complicated, Prostitution, Romance, Sith, Slavery, Slaves, Spacers, Star Wars is about hope y'all, This is fanfiction, and many others - Freeform, but no bashing, canon is dumb anyway, do not come into my DMs and comments to tell me I've done something wrong, i don't care, liberal interpretations of various Star Wars cultures including but not limited to, no betas we die like clone troopers, non-canon worlds, pit fighting, the Force is a Spectrum, the Force is complicated, the Jedi have been sabotaged, unreliable narrators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: Abducted from earth and sold to Grakkus the Hutt, thirteen year old Harry Potter finds himself in a strange galaxy far, far, away from everything he has ever known, having to learn new languages, an entire religion, how to fight, how to survive by any means necessary. Picking fights with slavers, hutts, and sith as he hunts for a way back home as the whole galaxy goes to shit around him.But what both Light and Darkness have forgotten in their endless warring is that mortals learn. What the Jedi and the Sith forgot and the Wizards didn't dare: The Power of Three was nothing to sniff at. And while two might butt heads, a third can soften the edges and make all the difference in the 'verse.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Harry Potter, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Harry Potter, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Harry Potter, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 116
Kudos: 942





	1. Cold through to my Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Kidnapping, Sleep Deprivation Torture, unsanitary conditions, child slavery, angst.

He shivered as he huddled in the cold metal corner of his tiny crate, rubbing his arms and watching his surroundings with a churning stomach and a long since sunk heart. From what he could see, and it wasn’t much as there were only a few slits around the top of the crate that let him peek out at the rest of the… room? But judging from the sound around him, he wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t the only crate. He was packed facing a wall, the slits at the front of the crate were the only ones he could see out of, and all he could see was the metal plated wall in front of him, harsh fluorescent lights, and faded slightly rust spotted red paint on said walls of stencilled on words in a completely foreign language.

Unsurprising, but still terrifying.

He flinched, cringing away from the front of the crate as heavy boots stomped past, the air scratching and harsh with whatever language it was his captors spoke.

He would have thought he had been abducted by dark magic users, by whatever remnants of the Death Eaters that may have remained just by looking at the terrifying beings that snatched him off the streets of Little Whinging as he made his way to the cornershop that fateful night he ran away from home. He would have been wrong. He actually wished it _had_ been Death Eaters. He might have had a better chance of escaping and getting back home if it were them.

He hoped the dog was alright.

And that no muggles opened his trunk, that would be a hard one to explain.

When he’d woken up it had been to this strange crate, smelling of nothing familiar, with strange metal walls and blinking neon lights, and a [weird yellow-green humanoid with pointy ears, huge black eyes, antenna, and an elongated trunk-like mouth](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Rodian). He thought the being was magical at first - like a goblin, or a house-elf, a species he hadn't encountered before, just… a bit like a fly at first glance, but then… he realised that wasn’t quite right. This wasn’t magical. The metal, the neon lights, the crate, and the _gun_ gave it away once his brain started to function and understand what exactly it was his eyes were seeing. The fly-like man(?) cackled at him when he spotted Harry peering out through the slits at him with open confusion and curiosity, burbling something to his(?) companion before moving away. A moment later, a more human- _ish_ looking person appeared with a [huge, literally unnaturally huge forehead that stretched up from hairless eyebrow ridges and an arrow-like nose to… Some kind of… it looked like someone had pinched the top of his skull and pulled](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Cerean). He(?) was completely bald but had a hundred tiny orange and black braids that lined the edge of his jaw, up his skull, and behind his ear _flaps_. 

He laughed at the look on Harry’s face and slammed the butt of his weird high-tech rifle against the crate, jostling it roughly and making Harry inhale sharply as he spread both his arms and legs out to brace himself. The two beings laughed at him, wriggling the tips of their fingers through the slits, sticking their tongues out and making obscene noises and gestures. Obviously attempting to torment or intimidate him. He glowered at the pair, trying to ignore the twisting anxiety churning in the pit of his stomach. Really? Dudley was doing better than that as a bully back when he was nine.

He grabbed the closest finger and twisted it, prompting a yelp, and a kick to his crate.

Someone in the distance shouted at them, yet another unknown language, and the two scattered with yelps and squawks of alarm.

Then there were the _robots_.

Tottering, marching, rolling, or scampering past his crate, beeping and trilling and whistling, sounding like the dial-up internet connection in Dudley’s bedroom, or the floppy disc-drive when it was throwing a tantrum over something or other. None of them stopped when he called out to them, and eventually he stopped. They were machines, it was unlikely they were programmed to even respond to him.

He didn’t know how long he was in that crate for. There was no indication of time passing, no feeding schedule, no sleep schedule. Nothing anyone said, even the robots when they did speak, had been in English. Or Latin. Frech, Greek, _Gaelic_. Nothing was recognisable.

Which… okay.

Understandable.

Aliens.

What ya gunna do? He couldn’t really expect them to know _English_. Not even everyone on _earth_ knew English despite how far England had gotten around the world (and fucked it up).

Never mind the fact that - y’know… _Aliens_.

Magic existed. Why _not_ aliens?

He just wished his first contact experience didn’t involve being abducted from a park, stuffed in a cold metal box, and electrocuted.

He felt sick.

And scared.

He had blown up his Aunt Marge and run away from home. He had stopped in Magnolia Crescent to try and get a hold of himself when he’d met the stray dog, the big friendly black scruff-monster that slinked out from under the bushes looking like it had just escaped from one of the most abusive homes on the block. Poor thing had been filthy, exhausted, shaking, and all skin and bones. Harry's heart has just about broken when he saw the old thing creeping towards him, whining, tail tucked between its legs. He didn't know how long he spent perched on the edge of that garden wall in Magnolia Crescent, stroking the animal's head and theorising about what to do next while it looked up at him with large soulful grey eyes, chin resting on his knee, warm and heavy and strangely loving. Chatting to the dog helped a lot. All Scruffy wanted was a kind touch and Harry was more than willing to give it as he mindlessly complained about all the horrible things his Aunt and Uncle had done to him over the years, the way Marge bad-mouthed his mother until he'd lost his temper. How he'd run away, terrified what Uncle Vernon would do to him, of the Ministry catching him. He was already on his second warning despite not actually being responsible for casting the magic last time.

Eventually he managed to talk himself into going to the Leaky Cauldron and then contacting Ron and the Weasleys, they would help him figure out what to do without sending him to the Ministry. But it would have to wait. It was far too late for a thirteen year old to be wandering around the streets without supervision, especially with a trunk. That just screamed runaway. Thankfully it was summer, he could sleep out in the park and use his cloak as a blanket easily enough. He even had enough money to get them both something to eat from the shop, but first he had to stash his trunk somewhere – he knew the lady who owned the shop was friendly with Mrs Figg. The last thing he needed was his old babysitter hearing about him running around after dark with his trunk. She would get the police involved in a heartbeat. She never did like the Dursleys, though she hid it better than most.

That had been the plan anyway.

He lead the way to a small thicket of bushes in the park where he'd slept rough before. The Dursleys had a habit of locking him out of the house if he wasn't home promptly from school, and there had been a time or two Dudley had done it on purpose. He left his trunk there and told the dog to stay and guard it before taking what little money he had and leaving to go to the One-Stop down the road. 

He never got there.

There had been a bright flash of light as he got halfway down the path, boots crunching on the gravel path, and then nothing. Everything went black and he woke up in the box, his hands cuffed together, and a _collar_ around his neck.

He had no idea how long ago that had been. 

He had been fed and watered at least four times since, but he didn't think that was indicative of the days or even the time of day. His collar kept shocking him at random intervals, every time a robot whizzed past his crate it would jab it with a cattleprod. They wouldn't let him sleep. They wouldn't let him out either. He'd already wet himself a few times despite his best efforts and the smell was _vile_. The feeling of sitting in a puddle of his own urine wasn't great either, especially as it went not quite cold but definitely cool and yet somehow still warm and – it was so strange and hard to describe and just disgusting. He really needed to poo as well but he _refused_ to do so in this box while he was still in it - that was how you got sick and got infections!

If he hadn't been so exhausted and stressed, he would have been terrified.

He'd read in junior school that sleep deprivation was an effective form of torture, but it was most commonly used as a means of ensuring compliance in prisoners and when handling slaves. Keeping them too tired to fight back, too tired to concentrate, to pay attention or cause a fuss, until they were sold on and became someone else's problem.

He didn't want to believe that was what was happening but, the cuffs and the collar and the crate were making it very hard for him to doubt it right now.

If he actually had money, he would have made a bet.

The ship – and he was really going out on a limb with that one, he didn't know why he thought he was on a _spaceship_ , but it was just... it couldn't have been anything else – the ship finally shuddered, jerking hard enough to throw him against the side of his tiny crate.

The white noise hum of engines and pipes and electronics around him was different now, quieter, _less_. But it was also somehow deeper, more gravelly, and he could now hear more activity around him, shouting, robots whizzing around, trills and beeps echoing off the metal frame work.

Tentatively, he crept to the slits in his crate and peered out as best he could into the tiny metal corridor. He could see... a large robot picking up a crate probably about the same size as his. He could see something blue inside but nothing else as it was carried away. He heard gears whirring beside him and saw a second robot picking up the crate next to him, same size, and filled with strange brown fur. Brown fur that made some strange almost elk-like noises before the whole crate shuddered. The robot announced something and the crate jerked with an unmistakable wail of pain before going still and quiet. The robot carried it away, and the first one returned to pick him up.

He tumbled a little in it as he was lifted without much care and unceremoniously carried away, bouncing and jostling, almost hitting his head several times as he tried to brace himself and see where they were going.

The robot carried him down the thin corridor that – wasn't a corridor. It was just a line of crates, all with people or things inside of them, and then turned a corner to what was unmistakably some kind of spaceship. He would have been excited to see it if not for the circumstances and his exhaustion. He saw the first two crates already waiting, stacked on top of each other in the mouth of the smaller ship, the furry crate making quiet mournful noises as he was set down next to them. Now that he was closer, he could clearly see the [_blue_ woman](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Twi%27lek) in the crate next to him.

She was very pretty, with the bone structure of a black lady but with sky blue coloured skin and two long tentacles instead of hair, she had cinnamon red eyes, red lips, and he was sure she would be lovely with a smile, but her eyes were puffy and swollen, bruised purple from either being hit or from crying. He couldn't tell.

He flinched as another box was stacked on top of him, looking up and realising she had seen him through the slits in the top of their respective crates, her eyes wide and horrified.

Were humans that uncommon out here, or feared?

She whispered something softly, shifting as best she could in the crate that was too small for her, fingers sliding out from the slits as far as they could. Her fingernails were long and red but they didn't look like polish, they were the same colour as her eyes.

He shook his head, “Sorry, I don't understand you,” he muttered quietly as another crate was set down beside them.

She crooned something low and sympathetic, wiggling her fingers at him.

Harry slipped his own fingers through the slits in his crate, she wanted to comfort him, it was kind of pointless, he was too tired to be scared. But she needed to try and sooth him, if only to take her own mind of what was going to happen to her. Their fingertips brushed, her hands were surprisingly hot, and her breath shuddered with fresh tears as she dropped her head and sobbed something incomprehensible.

A sixth crate was dropped down and the blue lady sobbed something to him – and screamed as a cattleprod lashed at their fingers with a harsh bellow.

Harry cried out, unable to stop himself as he yanked his fingers back into his box, stuffing them reflexively into his mouth to sooth the pain. The blue lady wailed, and then screamed again as Harry shoved himself to the front of the crate as the weird fly-pirate jabbed her box with his cattleprod, snarling something harsh and nasty as he hit the metal again and again, making the woman scream and writhe in the tiny confines.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Harry yelled, hitting the side of his box and glaring at the alien. He was ignored and the blue lady screamed again, sobbing unmistakable pleas to stop. “I SAID **STOP!** ”

His magic blew the ugly alien off his feet and shorted out his cattleprod.

A split second later his collar went off, and that was the last thing Harry remembered before he passed out.

* * *

He woke up with a headache that made the world spin and flash in front of his eyes. He could tell he wasn’t in his crate anymore, he was laid out flat on a metal slab and his limbs were strapped down securely.

Around him were people, _aliens_ , arguing and gesturing at him with frustration. A robot was running a blue laserbeam up and down his body, beeping and trilling as it did so. He winced away from the light but couldn’t really go anywhere as one of the aliens, another fly person but with darker green skin and longer antenna pressed a strange kind of pez-dispenser like thing against his shoulder. He heard the faint hiss and yelped at the sharp pain and sudden spread of _cold_ under his skin.

The fly-faced man _seemed_ to look at him, it was hard to tell because he didn’t have pupils to track, but he seemed to flinch in surprise at Harry being awake. 

A second later a hand slapped down over his eyes, forcing his head still, not that he had been moving much in the first place, and there was another sharp pinch in the side of his neck, cold spreading through his skin, and then darkness.

He woke up back in his crate, in clothes that weren’t his own, shivering with cold. 

His skin tingled strangely, overly sensitive and stinging like a friction burn half-healed. The headache he had from the sleep deprivation, from the electric shock, and now the drugs was still there, still throbbing and making him queasy and dizzy, and now there was a dull ache at the base of his skull. Not where the injection knocked him unconscious, but in the tiny dip where his neck met the back of his head on his hairline.

Carefully and awkwardly, because his hands were still cuffed together, now with a chain linking them to both his collar and the two cuffs now on his ankles, he gently probed the back of his neck, smoothing tingling fingertips across... a scar? 

His hair felt strange too.

Coarser than usual, dry.

He struggled to get himself upright, hissing in pain as his skin unpeeled from itself and touched cold metal. He examined what he was wearing with disgruntled confusion and exhausted dismay. They’d run off with his jeans and t-shirt, and left him with not an awful lot, a series of black strips of cloth - no, not black. It was a very dark shade of reddish brown that _looked_ black in the poor lighting, and it was all one piece too he realised with some discomfort. Tissue thin short-shorts with strips down the outside of his thighs to confusingly pointless bands of fabric just above his knees. They connected to an almost _croptop_ like strip across his chest that hid his nipples, a second band across his stomach hiding his belly button, and two strips across his biceps. They were connected up the side of his ribs with two strips that went over his shoulders, leaving his shoulders and collar bare. No shoes or socks though. Just the metallic cuffs and chains that connected neck to wrist to ankle. At least they'd cleaned him up, he didn't smell like piss anymore and he _felt_ clean at least.

It was while he examined his clothing that he realised - the scar from fighting the Basilisk last year was gone.

He grazed his fingers across the unmarked flesh with confused horror. That scar had been big, puckered, and ugly. But he had been proud of it. He’d _saved_ Ginny from a Basilisk, from the King of Serpents, and he’d gotten a cool scar out of it as proof. And now it was gone. Gone when not even Madam Pomfrey, Fawkes, and a litre of potions couldn’t fade it.

Then he looked more carefully and realised that _all_ of his scars were gone.

The ones on his left leg where Ripper’s mother, Regina, dragged him out of a tree and shook him. The ones on his knees and elbows where Dudley had shoved him over and he’d shredded his skin on playground tarmac and concrete. The ones on his fingers from where he had learned to cook from Aunt Petunia and had been terrible at handling knives were gone. Even the grease burns that dotted up his arm when Dudley shoved him into a frying pan while he was cooking breakfast had vanished.

He grazed trembling fingers across his forehead. The lightning bolt was gone.

What had they _done_ to him? Ripped his skin off and regrown it?

He paused as he heard voices and a strange tick-tack of metal on metal in the distance, coming closer.

He crawled to the front of his crate and peered out through the slits, pausing in confusion and horror as a _human_ with impressively broad shoulders and a cyborg eye, blood red and gleaming chrome, wearing fancy clothes and heavy armour pieces, a cyborg hand, and a _lot_ of guns, lead a huge _naked_ [slug creature](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hutt) with metal centipede legs down the corridor. Reading from a Star Trek style data-pad and gesturing to the boxes as they meandered down very slowly. He stared in horror at the slug-thing, stomach clenching with terror. It was huge and, he assumed male, because it was _ripped_ . Like. Visible six-pack and pecs. He’d heard jokes about washboard abs before but you could grind _meat_ on those. He easily towered over the human in front of him who was nothing to sniff at at more than six and a half feet in height, higher still with the heavy boots. His jowls wobbled loosely as he spoke occasionally, bright custard yellow toad-like eyes set in a wide blunt face with serpent-like nose-slits and a wide toad-like mouth flicked over each of the crates they passed with disinterest, listening to whatever was being said to him as they walked. No hair, no eyelashes, and no clothing. All he wore was a necklace of metal in large stylised slats. Even without the cyborg centipede legs that held him a foot off the metallic floor he was almost sixteen feet tall, and probably about twenty to thirty long from head to tail. 

He was taller than Hagrid. As tall as the Christmas trees they had for Yule at _Hogwarts_.

He stopped as the human said something and gestured to a crate, saying something almost glutteral that resulted in the crate being opened and the blue lady from before getting dragged out by her collar and forced to stand on legs that shook violently. She wore exactly the same kind of clothing that Harry did save for the cloth headpiece that wrapped around the base of her head-tentacles.

The huge toad looked her over, a thin yet disturbingly muscular arm reaching out to touch her head tentacles, making her flinch and sob, and grip her chin, forcing her head to turn this way and that before he said something almost jubilantly to the human. He frowned, and they started to argue.

Harry felt sick when he realised the human was _selling_ her to the slug when they seemingly reached an agreement and shook hands. She was shoved back into her crate and a tall black robot that he hadn’t noticed lurking behind the slug came forward and picked her up, marching away at the command of Sir Slave-Owner-Slug.

The pair continued down the rows of crates, getting closer.

Harry shuffled into the back of his crate, hoping to hell they were going to pass him by. He didn’t know how these things were done out in space, but he’d read accounts of slave auctions, whoever Slugs was he had to be important if he was getting a private viewing and first pick of the ‘goods’ without having to pay up in a bidding war.

He yelped in alarm as his crate was suddenly opened, snatching his limbs away as much as possible, never so thankful for his tiny size as he had been in that moment when the metal hand couldn’t reach him.

That thankfulness died swiftly when the man decided to grab the chain on the floor of the crate and drag him out with that instead.

He kicked out.

If he could get away maybe he could find a way to get the cuffs off and - the human hit him hard enough to see stars and he sagged, his vision spinning as he was yanked upright by a hand in his hair. He was forced to stand up straight and he felt cool, leathery, and kind of greasy fingers grab his chin, turning his face from side to size.

The slug tried to pull his lip down to look at his teeth and Harry snapped them instead, trying to bite him, and cried out as his shock-collar went off much to the amusement of his audience.

When he came back to his senses, the two were arguing back and forth. Slug sounded sceptical about something while Slaver sounded very smug and sure of himself. Eventually it culminated in Slug pointing a shockingly small hand for his size into Slaver’s face and issuing some manner of ultimatum. Slaver just grinned, all teeth, keyed a few buttons on his datapad, and handed it over.

A second later, little blue _holograms_ appeared. 

There were three boxes, familiar crates that robots were adding to every now and again, and he could see a set of blue fingers wiggle out from one, a female voice crooning something familiar. It was the blue lady. Then he heard his own voice saying that he didn’t understand her before his own fingers appeared and they touched, the woman sobbed, and a moment later the fly-man appeared and hit them both with his cattleprod and started torturing the blue lady, shouting and laughing as she screamed and sobbed. In the box above her something was snarling and shaking as well.

Then Harry started shouting. 

The fly-man was visibly blasted off his feet with accidental magic, not a single thing touching him. Harry’s voice cried out in pain and then went silent. 

Slugs handed it back silently rubbing his chin thoughtfully before he said something and withdrew a small blue square from... _somewhere_. Slaver just gestured at him to hurry it up, releasing Harry and taking a step back.

The cube was shoved into his hands, and before Slugs could even open his mouth to say anything, it lit up. The corners of it twisting and pulling free, the whole thing spreading out in Harry’s hands, the light between the spinning triangles of the corners forming a ghostly blue figure much more easily defined than the hologram before wearing Asian inspired robes, thick hair, and a snake tail. [A naga. An actual _male_ naga](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Thisspiasian). They were extinct on earth, exceptionally long lived, but with all the males dead their species passed away a few hundred years ago - though there were always rumours here and there in Greece and China.

[ _Anger leads to hate,_ ] the glowing figure spoke, the words not matching the movement of his lips, the sound vibrating through the air, in his _head_ , magic tingling on his fingertips. This cube was _magical_. Different from what he knew, three steps to the left maybe, but undeniably magical. Aliens _and_ magic? These aliens had _magic?!_ [ _Hate leads to suffering. Suffering to the Dark Side. One must remember that the path to the Dark Side is made of conscious and unconscious choice. To Fall is to do so in fits and spurts. All Jedi fall, but it is in how we raise ourselves back up that we prove ourselves._ ]

The cube was snatched from his fingers, Slugs barking something at Slaver who outright cackled, throwing his head back in full on glee a moment before Harry’s upper arm and head were grabbed. He was folded back into his crate without so much as a by your leave, it was only because of those formerly dormant instincts from when Uncle Vernon used to shove him back into his cupboard that prevented him from receiving any bruises or other injuries as he curled himself up, snatching his limbs in close as the crate was closed up tight behind him.

Slugs snatched up his crate _personally_ , which, Harry wasn’t sure if he liked what that insinuated as he began to panic. Breath coming out hard and fast and he scrambled around in his box trying to brace himself as he was jostled around. Worse still, Slugs _smelled_. Really badly. Like old baked beans. It was sour and gross and he was finding it hard to breathe as his headache became steadily worse. 

He watched through the slits as Slugs commanded a robot to come over and present another datapad to Slaver but was roughly the length of Harry’s finger and entirely pale grey. The human grinned happily and checked it against his datapad before saying something cheerfully to Slugs and giving a little two-fingered salute when he saw Harry watching him. As if Harry had just done him a favour and he was _grateful for it_.

Dismay curdled in the pit of his stomach.

How - he’d just been _sold_. How did that man not see anything _wrong_ with what he’d just done? It was as if - as if he didn’t even see him as - the crate jostled and Harry slid around, banging his head against one of the sides as he was handed off to a robot.

Everything was confusing but he eventually found himself being set down somewhere dark and metallic, but not alone he realised as he peered out through the slits and saw the blue lady from before. The one that Slugs had purchased earlier and he’d spoken to.

He wanted to reach out to her again because she was crying in her crate but - he didn’t want her to get hurt again like last time. So he kept his hands to himself and turned his attention to figuring out how to escape. His brain wasn’t very cooperative though, so he doubted he would be getting away any time soon.

But for now.... _For_ now. He plotted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes. THE BEGINNING OF THIS STORY IS VERY DARK.
> 
> It gets better though. I promise. Harry will not be all alone to be abused while under this particular Hutt, it wasn’t going to happen but then I had a brainwave and I just couldn’t ignore it so…. Hang on to your britches okay guys? Just bare with me.
> 
> After the storm comes a rainbow. One hella big gay-af rainbow.
> 
> 28/01/2020: Minor edit to add in links to the Wookieepedia for those who aren't familiar with Star Wars, as well as cleaning up editing issues brought about by writing on google documents. Note to self, never again. Makes my writing very clunky and awkward.


	2. Little Loth Kit

[Grakkus Jahibakti Tingi](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Grakkus_Jahibakti_Tingi), ruler of Hutta Town on Nar'Shaddaa, the famous smugglers moon that orbited the world of Nal'Hutta in the Outer Rim. Words that wouldn't mean a damn thing to him until much, much later. Right now, all he needed to know was that this being was his _owner_. That he was a slave.

Grakkus was a being known as a hutt, a species of slug-like sentients who were, almost to a total, criminally affiliated. Kingpins of huge empires that stretched across entire planets and even solar systems. Possessing three lungs and thick leathery skin that secreted a protective mucus, they could handle a majority of the atmospheres throughout the galaxy that would prove uncomfortable to other sentients. It was why Grakkus smelt so awful to Harry's nose – but then again, _everything_ smelt awful to his nose in this strange place. There were several hutts in Hutta Town. Children, relatives, and wives of Grakkus. The children were barely half a metre in length, _Harry_ could have picked one up with only about the same difficulty as he would have one of Mrs Number Eight's chocolate labradors.

Grakkus was the biggest of them, and unusually muscular by comparison.

He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty and, in fact, he enjoyed it.

Enjoyed going down into his own fighting pits and ripping apart beasts and beings with his bare hands to the frenzied screaming approval of the thousands he ruled over and those who visited from the homeworld to watch one of their own prove his superiority. He was swift with his twelve cybernetic legs, slithering and whipping through the arena with more speed than any being his size had any right to be, using his bulk to knock his enemies off balance and give him the chance to grab them – and once he grabbed hold, that was when the blood started to flow. He was just as bloody thirsty as his fellow hutts, he just preferred to _play in it_ than just watch it fly.

Harry tried not to read too much into the rich bloody red clothing he and the other slaves were forced to wear.

His owner liked to think of himself as unique, above his brother-sister hutts. A gentlebeing of _culture_. One culture in specific. He collected antiques and artefacts belonging to what Harry _tentatively_ identified as some kind of religion called the 'Jedi', who were all, apparently, magical in nature. This collection was the very reason why Harry had been _bought_.

A magical child able to open and wield his oh-so valuable artefacts. Old enough to be trained in combat, to earn him money in the fighting pits with a little patience. Old enough that he didn't need much in the way of parental care. Too young to be a threat to him, too young to protect himself, too young to properly take care of himself in the galaxy, to _escape_ , and hope to remain free. Too young to fight back, really. He was, in a word, the ideal slave candidate for what Grakkus wanted. A pet Jedi that the Order wouldn't be looking for.

But Harry wouldn't learn about any of this for a long time, he didn't even speak _Basic_ , nevermind Huttese.

He slept like the dead in his crate before he even reached the 'palace' that Grakkus owned, and didn't even wake as he was pulled out.

When he did wake, he found himself curled up amidst pillows and silks and a number of half-naked humanoid aliens and the slug himself, cuddled up in the grasp of an older woman with jade green skin and the same head tentacles as the blue lady. The room they were in was huge and circular, the bed being cut into a square alcove at the back of the room and drowning in blankets, throws, and pillows, the walls draped in curtrains and tapestries all to give the illusion of a warm soft cubby. The slug occupied most of the space, sprawled out against the back wall on huge pillows. The round room had three doors leading away from it, all of them were big enough for the slug himself, one was draped in red silks, the one opposite the bed was framed in huge roman style pillars, and the one on the left was plain and metal, unadorned. The room itself had a large glass circle in the middle of the floor, and above it was a crystal chandelier that caused the light reflecting from the glass below to flash rainbow patterns across the walls.

The green lady woke up immediately at his startled jerk and was quick to cover his mouth before he spoke.

She smiled warmly at him, brushing hair from his face as she carefully levered herself up to sit. She touched her chest, “Rhia Tsoo,” she whispered softly, “Rhia.” And then reached out to touch his chest. He stared at her in confusion before glancing up at the slug who continued to sleep on his mountain of cushions. She pointed up at him, “Grakkus,” touched her own chest, “Rhia,” and then touched his before her own again, “Rhia.”

Her name. She was telling him her name. And that the slug was called Grakkus. He blamed his stupidity on exhaustion and the headache still pounding in the back of his skull as he touched his chest, “Harry,” and then reached out to touch her shoulder because no way was he touching her chest, that was... no. “Ree-ah?”

“Rr-hee-aah,” she sounded out softly and nodded, one of her tentacles curling a little at the tip as she smiled. “Hay-ree?” she enquired.

“Hah-ree,” he sounded out. She nodded and repeated it quietly to herself until she had it right. “Harry Potter. Harry.” It took her a bit to get his surname, her accept kept shortening it to Poh-tah instead of Poh-terr.

But getting his name right wasn't particularly important. Grakkus woke up then.

He spoke to Rhia for a bit and then waved them off.

She stood, and pressed a kiss to the creature's jawline before placing a hand on Harry's shoulder to get him up and steer him away, her face perfectly serene and smiling slightly as she ushered him out of the room via the door surrounded by pillars. The corridor outside was very similar to the first room in that it was dark grey stone walls with harsh lights overhead, deep shadows, and a thin woven red carpet that their bare feet barely made a whisper of sound upon as they walked. There were no windows, and the corridors were huge, making him feel like a character in Jack and the Beanstalk.

She lead him to a much smaller corridor, too small for Grakkus, which was reassuring, and then into a room that looked like an odd mixture of kitchen and living room. She called out to a [silver robot](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Protocol_droid) bustling behind the countertops and it replied in a very soft fussy kind of voice before shuffling over, joints stiff and unbending. It had wide bright eyes and a completely static metal face, but at the same time Harry still kind of got the impression that it was very kind and eager to please, as much as it was allowed to be.

Rhis spoke to the robot for a moment before guiding Harry to a few chairs and urging him to sit. A moment later the robot returned with drinks and a bowl of something that looked like pale orange porridge. The porridge was put in front of him with a cup of water, and the robot plonked itself down on one of the available chairs while Rhia took one of the dark coloured drinks.

She spoke quietly to the robot, gesturing elegantly with one hand as she did so, tilting her head patiently as it replied, its whole upper body moving with it as it spoke. He guessed that in absence of facial features it used its whole body for non-verbal communication cues. Still. Robots. That was cool. When they weren't stabbing him with cattleprods, he added mentally with a scowl into his food.

It _wasn't_ porridge, more of a thick, creamy, nutty tasting _kind of_ porridge, more like... liquid mash potato almost? The water was water though. It tasted really damn weird, but that wasn't unusual. The tap water at Aunt Marge's tasted weird compared to Number 4. Even the water at Hogwarts tasted weird. He figured it was just something to do with the pipes or storage tanks it ran through or sat in.

“Harry,” Rhia prompted when he'd finished. He looked up and she smiled, pointing to herself, “Rhia,” and then to the robot, “PC-6,” him again, “Harry,” and then back to the robot, “PC-6. C-6,” she said as the robot babbled something cheerfully at him. He caught his name, Rhia's, and the robot's name amidst the babble. The green lady chuckled and held up a hand to slow the robot down before speaking to it carefully and then to Harry. She laid a hand on her chest and said a sentence slowly, being careful to pronounce clearly. It included her name so he could... kind of guess she was introducing herself properly.

He copied her, being careful with his words. She nodded and then made a strange twisting gesture with her hand and held it out to him. Was she asking him to repeat it? She did so and she shook her head, gesturing to him properly. What did she want him to do? He held her bowl out to her in confusion and she laughed.

The robot said something tentatively to her and she nodded, still giggling.

A moment later the robot was copying exactly what they had said, but using its own name. Then it said something _completely different_ also including its name. It tried again, also something else that was completely different including its name.

It took a few different ones before Harry realised the robot was cycling through languages.

Was this thing a linguist?

Harry tentatively repeated his introduction in English causing the both of them to perk up with interest. The robot parroted his introduction back with a perfect English accent and its own name.

That was how his morning went. Chatting with C-6 and Rhia, learning their language and them learning his. C-6 was picking it up a lot faster, though Rhia was definitely not dumb. They ate lunch and that was when a voice called out from the metal panel in the wall next to the door. C-6 went to answer and after a moment spoke to Rhia whose soft and easy smile faltered and then smoothed into an idly serene expression.

“ _Come Harry,_ ” she said getting to her feet and smiling to the robot. “ _See you later, C-6_.” That was in basic, what they called their language.

“ _Of course, Mistress Rhia. Goodbye Master Harry, until next time,_ ” C-6 bustled as it began to clean up their dishes and cups.

“ _See you later C-6. Thank you,_ ” Harry returned, his words a little thick and awkward before he turned and chased after the green woman.

They ended up going back to the room he'd woken up in where Grakkus was waiting for them. He gave Harry a look up and down before talking to Rhia in _his_ language, she replied in the same tongue, her expression not changing even though Harry was fairly sure she was a bit nervous and unhappy. He heard his name, C-6 was mentioned, and she bowed expressively to the huge slug once she was finished.

The Grakkus opened the plain metal door and gestured at the two of them to go in first, bringing up the rear as they travelled down a short dark corridor and into a huge _museum_. Harry could _feel_ the magic shivering in the air. Light, Dark, neutral, wild, it was all in there and now that he felt it he realised that everything outside didn't _have any_ , and his just being in the room was causing the magic to crackle and reach for him. He could hear whispers, like when he first stepped into Ollivanders' wand shop. He wondered if there were any wands in here, and if he could steal one. He was _sure_ if he could get his hands on one he would be able to escape. He tipped into the room like a wary cat, Rhia on his heels radiating curiosity and interest as well as awe, Grakkus lurking behind them.

The hutt spoke expansively, gesturing to his collection with unmistakable pride as he moved past them to a display case filled with those little crystal cubes, triangles, and hexagons of various colours.

He took a green one at random and presented it to Harry.

He pressed his lips together nervously, eyeing it like a feral bowtruckle. He had no idea what was on these things, but it was clearly something only someone with magic could activate since it was used to confirm he _had_ it back when he was bought. Was this knowledge really something that Grakkus should have? He shied back from it and saw the way the hutt's eyes narrowed unhappily before it was shoved against his chest hard enough to knock him off his feet.

He landed hard on his ass, wheezing in pain as blue light burst from the triangular crystal in his lap. [ _Recorded here are the teachings of Master Phin-Law Wo of the Jedi Temple on Vrogas Vas. Protect them at all costs._ ] The woman was hodded, dressed similarly to the naga-monk from before, but her face was painted in shades of black and white. She was quite beautiful actually, human as far as he could tell, but with her head hidden he couldn't tell if she was like Rhia and the blue lady with their tentacles, or like the slaver with his weirdly pointy head.

Rhia inhaled sharply, staring at the crystal in awe and Grakkus rumbled gleefully. Harry was barely aware of them as his attention practically sunk into the crystal, Master Phin-Law's voice reverbertaing through his head almost lyrically, drowning out everything around him. The cold, the smells, his surroundings, _himself_. There was only the crystal, and her.

[ _Emotion, yet Peace._

_Ignorance, yet Knowledge._

_Passion, yet Serenity._

_Chaos, yet Harmony._

_Death, yet the Force._

_For many this code has been taught to us in our childhoods, in our cribs and creches, by our Masters and our Crechemasters. Yet there are many who would subscribe to a less nuanced, structured view of the code._

_There is no Emotion, there is Peace._

_There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge._

_There is no Passion, there is Serenity._

_There is no Chaos, there is Harmony._

_There is no Death, there is the Force._

_Many Masters have argued over these two codes, discussions and debates have been waged for centuries and millennia over which is which, what is correct, what is not. The first code, oft referred to as the Vow of the Younglings, is known to all and yet its origin is shrouded in mystery – a failing that has tainted arguments for many years and cast this code into doubt. Where as the second code, the Knight's Code, considered a more advanced_ adult _version of our teachings can be traced back some sixteen hundred years to the Temple of Coruscant._

 _This holocron is to impact my wisdom not only upon this argument, but also upon the Creed and philosophy of the Jedi and the Order as a whole, and where I believe the flaws within lie. The Force has shown me some of what is to come, and, Young One_ ,] his breath caught as she turned her head to look directly up at him, her shadowed eyes glowing beneath her hood. [ _Your road will be long and hard. To protect the Order, to raise it up, to Guide it through the murkiness of the Darkness cloying at its feet, even as it turns away from you, you will not only have to fight with your fists and your blades, but also with your words and your mind and all the_ fires _of your soul. I cannot guide you as perhaps I would wish, if you are watching this now I have passed into the Force and become one with the Universe as all others before me have._

_Heed my teachings, but do not take them as Gospel._

_It is the duty of the Student to Surpass the Master._

_And the Destiny of all to grow and change with the passing of time._ ]

* * *

When Rhia had first seen the tiny human boy curled up like a [loth kit](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Loth-cat), pinned to Master Grakkus' side as he languished smugly amidst his bedding, she had known immediately the youngling would be her undoing. Master Grakkus had never brought a youngling before, and for all that her beauty was undiminished, she was _old_ by slave standards. _Ancient_ by _Twi'lek_ slave standards for her brothers and sisters rarely lasted long in bondage. She had spent longer now as a slave than she had ever spent free and her heart _ached_ to have never had younglings of her own. There had been times, in the past, where she had been heavy with younglings. But every time her owner had induced her, and she lost them. The pain lingered even now in her heart, and she _burned_ with want.

And there he was. A youngling pinned to her master's side, exhausted and grey, so small and soft, sleeping so innocently. And her master commanded her to take the young one's care until he was ready for the bowers and the pits.

Her heart seized in pain for all that she was able to keep her serene expression.

The bower.

Where Grakkus kept the pleasure-slaves for his gusts, family, and himself. He planned to sell the youngling's body as well as present him in the fighting pits.

“Of course, Master. What is it you wish for me to teach him?” she asked sweetly as she climbed into the nest of bedding and blankets, rubbing herself up against him to kiss his jaw, feeling a hand smooth down her spine and rump.

“: _He is to be the jewel of my collection,_ :” her master declared, “: _He will comport himself as such when he is ready to be presented. Until then, keep him quiet and out of sight within my private wing. You will share duties in raising him with Beskell._ :” She didn't pause at the name, but it was a near thing. Par Beskell, the mandalorian mercenary that Grakkus had hired three years ago to run the fighting pits and beasts he kept on hand. She'd never had any contact with him personally, they had only seen one another from a distance as she served her master and he reported on the progress of the fighting slaves, beasts, and petitioned for this weapon or that armour and offered suggestions for the next great spectacle of Grakkus' Grand Arena. He was, as far as she had seen, a quiet and intense man. Never without that red and grey armour of his, she didn't think he had ever even taken the helmet off in front of her. He was known to the other slaves in the household though, quiet and stuff, but if not kind then at least respectful. He did not treat them as things, didn't seem to hold them in the same contempt as other mercenaries or even other madalorians had done in the past.

She could work with him. She told Grakkus as much and was rewarded with a rumbling laugh and a gentle caress before she was allowed to slip free. PC-19, one of the protocol droids, arrived with the evening meal and she settled in at his side where he preferred to keep his playthings and gathered the youngling into her arms.

It wouldn't be until hours later when he woke and looked up at her with those _green_ eyes that she realised the true enormity of what was happening.

Grakkus had given her a youngling.

This was _her_ youngling.

She had been a slave for longer than she had been free. Over three quarters of her life had been spent in chains.

She smoothed dark hair from the youngling's eyes, and vowed that the same would not happen to him.

* * *

He was a quick little thing, smart, and clearly educated thus from some manner of social status on his home world.

She wondered what it was like, who his parents were, what his upbringing was like. He had clearly received Urso Vekt's usual exceptional services – a complete medical check, full host of vaccinations, skin stripping and bacta immersion, all of his information was stamped onto his collar to be seen. The child was allergic to very few things thankfully, none of it medical. Genetic predisposition to poor eyesight though, hints of inbreeding in his background. It was why Vekt's products always cost so much, but why they were so highly valued as well. All of his products were given complete medical work-ups, their skin was stripped to prevent contamination, remove scars, other identifying marks like tattoos or piercings, and to prevent off-world contaminants. Then they were immersed in bacta to regrow it and also purge their _internal_ systems of infection and potential contaminants. If health complications that couldn't be resolved by gene-manipulation or vaccinations were found then it was marked along with their allergens and the price was adjusted accordingly. The man was an utterly heartless monster, as all slavers were, but he was a businessman and he was _smart_ about it. ' _Good quality products meant good quality profits_ '.

The youngling was genuinely delightful as they sat down to eat the first meal of the day and talk to C-6. Where-ever the youngling came from, he had already been raised with table manners to that was one less thing she had to strike from her list of lessons.

She wondered if he understood what had even happened to him. He seemed... unusually calm for a youngling that had just been uprooted from everything he had ever known. Unless this wasn't the first time?

She sipped her drink and fought to keep herself calm.

No.

It wasn't that he was calm. He was _watchful_.

He took in his surroundings in ways that reminded her of other slaves, reminded her of guards. He was memorising what was where, who was where, learning everything he could with those large green eyes of his as he ate. He picked up Basic quickly once he got some food into him and was able to focus properly. She wondered how long Vekt had kept him starving and dehydrated, how long he had forced the child to stay awake in order to keep him weak and docile.

A force sensitive youngling.

Vekt may have been a former Jedi, or so the rumours went, but even he wouldn't be so foolish to have an untrained force sensitive in a high-stress environment without some manner of ensuring he remained compliant and docile. She'd heard from other slaves that beatings.... beatings really didn't work. There had been slaves with force sensitivity that had been discovered only when they were beaten so hard that they destroyed themselves, and everything around them when their powers became unstable and _violent_.

They returned to Master Grakkus chambers when summoned and Rhia calmly informed him of the youngling's good progress with picking up the language, even sharing his name with her master. Harry. Such an odd name but who knew what it meant, and until the youngling knew more Basic, she could not ask.

And then they went into the museum.

* * *

The holocron faded and died down, and Harry blinked as if waking up from a long nap, feeling the magic of the crystal humming across his skin, only a small portion of its knowledge shared. He inhaled deeply, feeling almost sticky and dusty with how long he had been still, and looked around. The slug was gone, but Rhia was still there, sat quietly beside him with inquisitive green eyes.

“ _Are you well?_ ” she asked and it took him a moment to parse the words before he nodded. “ _It's been three hours._ ” That also took him a moment as they hadn't gone over time yet but he still.... he still somehow understood.

He slowly levered himself to his feet and put the crystal back in the case, snatching his hand back when the red crystal below it flickered. He quickly closed the case and took a few steps back – bumping into another one behind him. A low flat one like in a jewellery shop, only this one had silver cylinders inside it. All of them very technical looking.

He pointed to them, “ _What is?_ ” he asked Rhia as she came over.

She smiled, “ _Lightsabres_.”

He looked down at them and opened the case, ignoring the soft sound of her surprise as he reached in. They felt like _wands_ , but.... not quite. They weren't alive in the same way as a wand was, but there was magic in them, a kind of.... potential. An _echo_ of experience.

He picked up the one on the edge of the line, with the spots of rust on the pale bronze metal. The grip was a bit too big for his hand, he could probably hold it two handed but he got the feeling it was to be used with only the one.

He also had it upside down – there was a bit of metal poking uncomfortably into his hand that rested comfortably against his knuckle when he turned it the otherway up.

He gave it a swish and a flick.

The bright yellow blade sheered a corner of the display cabinet off, making Rhia squeal, and Harry yelp as he practically threw the thing away from him, the yellow blade vanishing as soon as it left his fingers.

He stared at the glowing slide through the metal and glass display case with wide eyes.

Oh.

_Oh._

_**This was his ticket out of here.** _

* * *

Par Beskell had been training fighters and beasts for Grakkus arena for three years now. Searching for fighters that had the passion of Mand'alor in their veins who may be willing to answer the call, swear the oaths, join their people. There had been a few, them he trained fervently, a number of them took the oaths and returned to Mandalore, to Jaster's cause. Many of them didn't live long enough to get out but that was just the nature of the arena. If they couldn't survive it, then they wouldn't survive the trials of the True Mandalorians.

Still.

This was the first time Grakkus dared to bring him a _youngling_.

He watched with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, never more thankful for his helmet hiding his face as the hutt hauled the tiny patch of felt in front of him. The boy already had a bruise forming on one side of his face, green eyes practically burning in his face as he tried to keep his feet under him and allowed himself to be dropped in front of him.

“: _Beskell. I am putting the youngling in your hands. Train him up. He is yours to do with as you wish after the mid-meal. Coordinate with Rhia Tsoo if you require anything,_ :” the hutt commanded, sounding irritated but also gleeful as he dropped the boy in front of him.

He eyed the youngling, “You've never brought a youngling here before. I'm not going to wipe his nose for him,” he growled out, hand resting on his blaster when he saw the ripple of tension and power in the hutt's form. What he wouldn't give to get the beast in the pit with him, now _that_ would be a fight. True Mandalorian versus Hutt Ruler. Honour against Scum. There wouldn't be a soul in Condordia who wouldn't tune in. Even amongst the Death Watch.

“: _He will not be presented to the pits until deemed ready. He is... an investment. Teach him to fight, or die with him._ :”

Par felt his eyebrow leap up his forehead. Grakkus didn't usually threaten him. Something had gotten him hot under the collar today.

“Anything I should be aware of?” he asked cuttingly, tilting his helm up and squaring his shoulders. He was here on contract, he was not a slave, and Grakkus had best remember it.

“: _I want him trained in Jedi combat_ ,:” the Hutt commanded, making him pause and look at the boy anew. Grakkus was well known for his Jetii obsession. The boy didn't have a padawan braid. But that meant little out here - it would be the first thing removed from the boy, right before the rest of his clothing and dignity. But he knew better than to bring a Jetii in front of a Mandalorian and expect there not to be conflict given their prior history in the Sith wars and prior – unless.... “: _You will have your work cut out for you, Pit Master. He does not speak Basic. I trust that won't be a_ problem.:”

That explained it. The boy was from outside the Republic. No one would be looking for him. He wasn't a Jetii. Just a youngling with their abilities.

“Fine. But I will not tolerate interference, Grakkus. You hand him to me to train, I will train him _my_ way,” he swore.

The hutt rumbled an acceptance, shoved the boy towards him, and left.

What the hell was Par going to do with this scrap of nothing Jed'ika?

As soon as the hutt was out of sight, the boy went for him.

That was the _last_ thing he expected from him, and he was completely blind-sided as the [little _nexu-brat_](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nexu) belted him in the fork of his legs with a foot, stole his blaster, and ran for the exit.

The youngling didn't get very far before Par snapped the kid up in one arm, and twisted his hand free of the blaster he was holding incorrectly, and hauled him back into the training rooms, ignoring every kick and elbow the kid threw at him, allowing the furious words of an unknown language wash over him, no doubt all of it insulting. It wasn't the first time he had taken a kick, punch, or blaster down there, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

But just for that introduction alone, Par decided he liked this kid. Jed'ika or not.

Now he just had to teach the youngling how to survive what came next, and how to plan his escape attempts properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhia Tsoo - female Twi'lek, OFC.  
> Par Beskell - male, Mandalorian, OMC.  
> PC-6 - Protocol Droid, OC.
> 
> For those of you wondering why Harry's activating Jedi artefacts without needing to focus on them, remember, he isn't a Jedi. He's a wizard. The Force is magic. But sorcery is very different from how the Jedi use it - re: Dathomir and the Night Sisters, Sith curses and sorcery, etc. There are many different ways of using the Force, using it the Jedi way is just one of many. 
> 
> 02/02/2020: Links to Loth Cat and Nexu added in.
> 
> Oh yeah, I edited the previous chapter too. Cleaned up the text and added a few links for those who aren't familiar with Star Wars.  
> And yes, Grakkus does have a few Sith artefacts in there too. Fun times.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: Graphic descriptions of violence, pit fighting, sexual slavery, heavily implied child rape, heavily implied beating.**
> 
> Hover text on the linked speech is the translation. Mobile users please see the bottom of the chapter if you cannot see the hover text on the links.

Alarms started sounding as soon as Harry had accidentally destroyed the display case, Rhia looked _terrified_ for a moment, wringing her hands before hissing something that sounded like an apology – and backhanding him hard enough to throw him to the floor as Grakkus thundered into the museum.

Harry scrambled up, clutching his face in shock as she snarled coldly at him, not raising her voice, but clearly not happy. Her eyes flickered to Grakkus for a moment as the Hutt took in the scene, the ruined display case, the fallen lightsabre, Rhia, and Harry on the floor – the Hutt growled unhappily and the woman jumped as if burnt.

“[Haku beet?](http://www.completewermosguide.com/huttnoncanondictionary.html)” the slug rumbled, coming closer with slow menace, cybernetic legs tick-tacking across the marble floors.

Rhia threw an arm out to him, “[Chess ko, Lorda!](http://www.completewermosguide.com/huttnoncanondictionary.html)” she exclaimed, gesturing to the molten glass on the floor before gesturing sharply at Harry, “[Bukee Maya](http://www.completewermosguide.com/huttnoncanondictionary.html). [Rundee do _lightsabre_ an inkabunga je](http://www.completewermosguide.com/huttnoncanondictionary.html). [Hasa punyoo](http://www.completewermosguide.com/huttnoncanondictionary.html),” she explained, her voice shaking slightly as Harry slowly got to his feet, clutching his face. She looked away from Grakkus to stare at him, her expression crumpling for all of a heartbeat before she quickly hitched her face back into one of annoyance and fear. She turned back to her master and bowed, declaring something that quickly cut off when the hutt reached forward and grabbed one of her head tentacles.

He rumbled something threatening and she nodded, her voice tight with pain as she spoke.

He huffed angrily and dropped her, she didn't dare move and the gesture the hutt gave towards him was unmistakable, follow him. Now. He glanced to Rhia who nodded behind the hutt, trying to smile encouragingly but unable to.

* * *

Grakkus didn't hit him, he dragged Harry down to what was unmistakably a sci-fi gladiatorial arena, and dropped him off in front of a heavily armoured man with guns strapped to his hips. He didn't seem to be a slave, but why Harry was being dragged to him he couldn't begin to guess – and wasn't interested in trying. That laser sword could cut through metal and glass, if he could get back into the museum and grab it, he could escape this place – hell, if he stole some of those holocrons he could either sell them, or find one of these _Jedi_ to take him home in exchange for their crystals back.

The second the hutt was gone, because Harry knew he wasn't going to be able to beat him in a fight, he kicked the armoured guy in the pills, grabbed the gun so he couldn't get shot in the back while he ran away, and _bolted_.

He didn't get very far. Annoyingly.

The armoured guy was so _fast_!

Harry squirmed kicking and swearing at the guy as he tried to make himself boneless and slither free, the guy just grunted, and then swung him up over onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. No amount of elbowing him in the back of the head won him freedom, and attempting to haul himself up and down the man's back just got his ankle grabbed in a bruising grip and a pauldron bounced into his gut when the man readjusted his position with a huff of annoyance.

He was eventually dumped onto what was unmistakably some kind of gym mat, the same kind they used at school for PE lessons, wipe-clean pleather over foam. He scrambled away from the armour guy and looked around warily, scowling when he realised they were definitely in some kind of gym, but, a martial arts one from the look of it? There was a wall with boxing gloves, pads, sticks, and other kinds of weapons, and there were punching bags at the other wall and a boxing ring in the far corner as well as an open corridor that lead to some kind of storage room filled with robots of various kinds. None of them seemed to be activated though.

The armoured guy seemed to stare at him for a moment before huffing irritably and heading to the shelves. He threw one of the sticks at Harry, who only caught it out of reflex because Fred and George were bastards who wanted to test his catching skills so often threw random things at him.

Armour nodded, and then approached with one of his own sticks, pointing at his hand.

“[Sa ibic](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2),” he commanded gruffly, pointing to his fingers and then demonstrating a few motions, how to hold it with two hands, hold it one handed, reverse grip, and how to flip between the two. “[Jii gar](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2),” he said, gesturing to Harry who... glanced at the way he was holding his hands, angled very obviously so that he could see, and then copied him. “[Jate. Projor](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2),” he said and then shifted to a one handed grip. When Harry copied him, he moved onto the reverse grip. This one the man made a short tutting noise and shifted his wrist, tapping his own thumb which was positioned differently to Harry's. The Gryffindor wrinkled his nose and tried to adjust his grip but his hand was _considerably_ smaller than Armour's. It seemed to be good enough because he got another nod and '[ _jate_](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2)', which he was _tentatively_ deciding was an acknowledgement of some kind. Projor seemed to be 'next' as it was what he said before he changed which grip they were using.

Armour nodded at him after they went through the grips a few more times before he took a step away and tapped the armour on his shins noisily, “[Sur'haai olar, sa ibic,](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2)” he instructed, positioning his feet. He pointed to his feet and traced a line up to his shoulder to show that they should be positioned at shoulder width apart. He moved a bit, swaying his body to show how balanced the position of his feet were and then moved his feet, never crossing them save once when he did so and then made an exaggerated wobble and a cutting gesture with his hand. Clearly crossing your legs was a bad idea, or at least one he disapproved of.

“[Jii gar](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2),” Armour commanded, gesturing to him.

Harry moved and got a tut and a gentle tap with the stick on his right ankle, it was too far back. He repositioned and Armour nodded, and then copied him before bending his knees and holding the stick out in front of him. “[Sur'haai](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2),” he said and began to move, demonstrating forward step, strike, back step, back step guard, strike forward step, change grip, strike, guard, back step, change grip, strike, parry, strike, forward step.

When he was done, he was back beside Harry, his knees were still bent, and his feet were still positioned in line with his shoulder.

He gestured to himself, explaining something and making a pushing gesture before slapping an armoured hand against his chest and shaking his head, he then chuckled and with a swift jab of three fingers to Harry's shoulder nearly knocked him off his feet. He outright laughed at the Gryffindor's scowl, gesturing at his feet and legs and then to his own before making a come hither gesture, hitting his chest again.

“[Jii gar](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2).”

The twelve year old shoved him, as hard as he physically could.

He rocked a little bit on his heels, but otherwise was completely rooted and solid in his position.

The Gryffindor pouted a little and grunted, shoving the hand that tried to ruffle his hair away with a scowl.

Armour took several steps away and gestured at him to get into position, “[Ara'novor](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2),” he commanded as he lifted his stick.

Harry frowned at him, only to squawk a little when he struck at him with the stick – no where near as fast as he had demonstrated before, he definitely gave Harry time to get out of the way.

“[Tug'yc!](https://lingojam.com/EnglishMandoaTranslatorV2)” Armour called again before coming at him with the stick.

Guess his first sword lesson was going to be a hands on one.

* * *

Par liked this kid, he had _spirit_.

He was a scrawny practically half-starved runt, watchful in the way that only street urchins and younglings with bad family were, but he didn't shy away from fighting back the way the truly broken would. He flinched a little when Par moved too quickly or aggressively, but if anything that just made the youngling sharper, and angrier. He picked up what he was being taught quickly, faster even than those bounty hunters and pit slaves that _didn't_ have a language barrier between them. The youngling had incredible balance and reflexes, not much in the way of strength of durability, but he certainly had stamina. Things that Par could work with, and things that would only improve with good meals and effort.

He worked the boy hard, hopefully if he were too tired he wouldn't try another porg-brained scheme to escape. Honestly, did he really think just _running_ would be enough?

Had anyone managed to explain about the chips yet?

“Master Beskell?” Par tensed up but didn't jump. He hadn't heard the twi'lek approaching. He turned and looked down at Grakkus' favourite plaything and the headwoman of the bower, he had only ever seen her at a distance, he hadn't thought much of her either to be perfectly honest. Up close, he could see that she was probably a decade or so older than him, nearing fifty galactic standard and absolutely _stunning_ , even by Twi'lek standards. He was surprised that a woman her age was Grakkus' favourite despite that beauty though, most hutts preferred their pleasure slaves on the younger side of twenty to thirty. Bunga, Grakkus' younger brother, actually preferred them younger. _Much_ younger. To unacceptable levels in Par's opinion. She was all generous soft curves and pale jade skin wearing almost see through strips of gauzy blood red fabric that allowed him to see the shadow of her nipples and the silhouette of her groin. She was barefoot, which explained how she snuck up on him, and had fairly long lekku, one of which sported the dark bruising handprint of her master upon it.

“Rhia Tsoo,” he greeted. “Beskell. I don't own anyone,” he grunted not bothering to hide his contempt at the very idea of _owning_ a sentient.

Some of the faint lines around her eyes, absolutely invisible until they relaxed and changed the entire shape of her face, eased as her posture shifted and straightened. “Ser Beskell then,” she said decisively, and he couldn't particularly argue against the ancient form of address, it was primarily used for warriors in service though had seen considerably more use with Jetii these days, but it was still an acceptable term of address despite current popularity trends. “Where is the youngling?” she asked quietly.

“Cleaning up. He worked hard.”

She nodded, “I see. That is good. I must beg your patience with him,” she requested with a very formal bow. “The youngling, he is not from a Republic world, they are pre-contact as I understand it. I am doing my best to teach him, and while I am sure he knows his circumstances, he does not fully understand them. Please, for now, until he knows better – ”

“I don't beat younglings,” he interrupted flatly, folding his arms and leaning against the wall behind him, watching as the lines in her back went tight but she remained bowed in front of him. “It is not The Way. We do not harm younglings. I will teach him as Grakkus wants, but as a _teacher_ , not a tyrant.”

She straightened up and searched his helmet for a moment. She was absolutely unable to see his face but for some reason.... he got the feeling she could see right through him. Eventually, her face broke into a quiet smile of relief.

“I understand. My apologies for any offence, Ser Beskell.” He waved them off, turning as he heard the sound of the youngling's irritated huffing and puffing as he came out of the changing rooms – with his hair standing on end from the sonics.

He burst out laughing and had to bend double and brace himself on his knees at the sight while Rhia coughed on a giggle and quickly began to fuss over getting that _mop_ to lay flat, cooing about how they were going to have to use some oils on that travesty while Par struggled to get some air into his lungs. The two bade their farewells and he waved them off, still choking on his laughter as the youngling grumbled, shooting him filthy looks while he trotted after his minder, his hair still pouf-ing out around his head like he'd been caught in the backdraft of a passing jetpack.

Once he'd gotten his chortling under control, he straightened up and headed towards his own quarters to begin drawing up a training plan for the boy. The beasts could wait another hour or so before their feeding, it wouldn't hurt them none, and he wanted to get this down while the memories of the day were fresh.

* * *

Thing changed rapidly and yet managed to stay much the same for Harry.

He learned Basic far more quickly than he should have been able to, he didn't have any particular _gift_ for languages so the speed in which he was picking it up was frankly unnatural to him. He hadn't picked French up this quickly, at all, in junior school and he had been forced to sit through two years of that agony with Mrs Finchy. Only C-6 was keeping up with him on the linguistics front, and the two of them were able to converse with increasing ease in English as the droid picked up on the language like only a computer could. With C-6 learning English rapidly, Harry was also better able to pick up on Basic, and had a lot of the cultural aspects he had been ignorant to now explained to him. For instance, they were _droids_ , not robots. Robot was considered a derogatory term because it indicated that the machine in question had no intelligence, all droids had a level of artificial intelligence from the most high-functioning of Protocol Droids in service to the Senators of Coruscant, to the lowest mouse-droids cleaning run-off gutters in Corellian shipyards. It was like comparing a TV to a can on a string.

He also started picking up Huttese, which was Grakkus' language, Mandolorian from Beskell, and Binary from just about every droid that would give him the time of day. C-6 was quite pleased to teach him, flattered that he would even ask to learn. Harry didn't have the heart to tell him that it was purely with ulterior motives. If he could sweet talk a medical droid into getting rid of his chip, then he could escape.

After that first day with Beskell, when Rhia found out what he'd done, she flew into a panic and dragged him down to C-6 where between the two of them and a lot of sheets of something that wasn't paper but called _flimsi_ they managed to explain that there was something inside him that would explode him if he ran away or if Grakkus was displeased with him.

So that was all of Harry's escape plans now with an extra complication, made worse by the fact that while he _knew_ where the chip was, it was not in a location he could just gouge out carelessly.

So he toed the line, for now, and behaved himself like a good slave as he tried to learn as much as possible about the strange universe and vast cultures he now found himself in.

In the mornings he learned language and dance from C-6 and Rhia, meditated with the holocrons before lunch, and when he was done, he would go to Beskell and be run ragged with training before bathing and eating the evening meal. After dinner was the only time when he couldn't anticipate what was going to happen. Sometimes he would be expected to sit amidst the sea of cushions that was Grakkus' throne with the rest of the bower slaves as he presided over his people and plans, keep quiet and try to look docile and pretty. Occasionally he would be presented and told to activate one of the holocrons for the amusement of his posse – though after the first time the hutt shoved one of the evil feeling crystals that Harry refused to go near into his hands and it nearly killed everyone in the room he made sure to only present those holocrons he had willingly opened before hand. The evil crystal had tried to suck the very life-force out of them all, their _souls_ , before Harry was able to muster enough presence of mind to summon every scrap of magic and goodwill like it described about the Patronus Charm in one of his texts, he flung it as hard as he could against the crystal, buying him enough breathing room to _finite_ the connection it had with everyone, and then fling it back into the display case where it buzzed and glowed angrily like the universe's weirdest Decepticon-Wasp hybrid. Thwarted, hungry, and furious about it.

He was so glad he read ahead when choosing his electives last year, when he and Ron had been considering Care of Magical Creatures, Harry had read Fantastic Beasts from cover to cover and read the accounting of the lethifold being fended off. It sounded really cool so he had cross-referenced a Defence text to find out about the Patronus Charm, he wasn't sure if he was allowed to read that far ahead, especially as it was listed as a super advanced spell that even some aurors had difficulty with. He kept it quiet even from Hermione, just in case. He didn't want to put her in the position of having to report him to Professor McGonagall and getting him in trouble.

Eventually though, his third week or so in, he was taken to watch an event in the pits.

He sat beside Grakkus and Rhia in the top-box and watched as a man was torn apart by monsters in the arena. At least his death was quick, he decided cold and sick as he _felt_ the man's life snuff out. Like a whisper in the back of his head that suddenly went quiet. Next was a woman – she lasted a lot longer and put up a good fight, killing three of the strange monsters before she was caught from behind and mowed down with a shriek that Harry heard with both his _ears_ and his _mind_.

He was twelve. Or thirteen now? He wasn't sure. But he had _seen_ some horrible things in his life. This though.... He was not embarrassed to have Rhia's arms come around his shaking form, nor ashamed to cling to her like he was half his actual age, flinching with every scream and wet crunch of bone. Grakkus just chuckled and petted his head like a bloody kitten and Harry was absolutely disgusted with himself for allowing it.

It wasn't the last time he saw the rights either. Grakkus loved them and it seemed like it was once a week he ended up with his master in the top-box, watching blood splatter across the sand. The first time Grakkus went _into_ the ring though would haunt his nightmares for years – it was _terrifying_ in a way he wasn't sure he could really understand. He knew the hutt was strong but.... watching him _rip_ an Alpha Nydak in half with his bare hands...... It was a bipedal predator ferried from a reputed death world by the name of Dathomir, it was big, pale blue, and looked a bit like the love child of a demon, dinosaur, and a gorilla, huge muscular forearms, a hunched back thick with rippling muscle, and short dinosaur like back legs. It was still _half_ Grakkus' size and Harry had seen the beast in three fights prior rip humans, a thisspiasian, and even a _wookie_ to shreds. It raced towards the hutt who slithered swiftly out of its path, grabbing one swinging gorilla like arm, swinging it around and catching the other arm by the elbow and then... _pulled_. Slowly.

The shrieking combined with the slow wet tear and grind of flesh, the way the screaming vibrated on his ears and scraped like claws in his mind as confusion and fear and primal wrath buzzed beneath his skin, absolutely none of it his, as the hutt laughed and _slowly_ tore it in half reduced him to tears. It took several days before he would stop flinching when the hutt touched him after that night – something that Grakkus found both hilarious and _cute_ judging by his reaction. Harry resented being dragged against the being and _petted_ like a fucking kitten, but didn't fuss or fight as those hands rubbed against the back of his neck and skull, all too aware of how _fragile_ he was in their grasp. How _easy_ it would be for the hutt to just tighten his grip and _snap_. One dead wizard, no effort, no exertion. Not even running around in the Chamber of Secrets with a Basilisk on his ass terrified him as much as cuddle time with Grakkus could.

He took it out in training with Beskell who took the increased 'enthusiasm' with great approval and kicked it up a notch.

How to fall, followed by breaking out of grapples, holds, throws, how to get back up quickly and safely, that upgraded into hand to hand, defending himself, attacking, pressure points and weak spots, anatomy was explained and used liberally and C-6 was summoned to facilitate their communication as concepts and instructions became more complex. Sword play continued but it was clear that while Beskell was skilled with them, he didn't particularly like them. They were a tool as far as he was concerned, and a pretty inferior one to a blaster in his opinion. If you hadn't shot whatever was attacking you by the time it got within sword range, you were doing something wrong and deserved to get whatever you got. But he stilled trained Harry in their use. Single handed, two handed, dual blades, long swords, short swords, daggers, shivs, knives, throwing blades, spears, glaives, double ended glaives, pikes, staves, the _lot_. The only thing he didn't teach Harry was how to use a blaster.

No way Grakkus would authorise that. No slave owner would.

Harry met the other slaves bit by bit, the kitchen staff in the mornings as Rhia brought him in for breakfast while Grakkus still slumbered. He met the various cleaning staff as well, mostly droids but there were some organic sentients amongst them as well. Beskell was keeping him well separate from the pit fighters, but Rhia saw no problem with introducing him to the other slaves in the bower. There were twelve of them in total, kept exclusively for Grakkus, his family, and the members of his posse that he favoured – Rhia regretfully informed him that eventually when he was old enough he would be serving in the bower. When Beskell decided his training was completed, he would also be in the pits. Fear and disgust turned his stomach to acid. His age may have protected him from being on the receiving end of any sexual interest, but they hadn't cared about using the other slaves in front of him. It was where he found out what happened to the blue skinned twi'lek that had been bought with him – as she lay beneath a bounty hunter that had particularly pleased Grekkus by bringing him the head of a business rival along with all of his trade routes and partners listed on a data-chip.

Some of the bower slaves were bitter and antagonistic towards him at first for being Grakkus' most valuable slave and yet not forced to serve the same way as the rest of them, the implied favouritism and lack of suffering he faced did not win him any allies. He honestly didn't know exactly, though he realised later, at the time he was mystified as his Basic was still rudimentary. Rhia put her foot down and them in their place though, and it wasn't long before he was semi-adopted by the group as they did their best to protect him.

It wasn't enough though.

For eight months they managed to keep him out of sight and out of mind save for those whose business it was to mind him. But he was small and would remain small according to the medics, childhood malnutrition had stunted his height and he would forever have difficulties with weight gain, and probably would end up with delayed puberty on top of that.

All those things together drew Bunga's attention like a sabacc table drew Corellians.

By the time Rhia found him, the hutt had finished with him and Harry – he – didn't know – what he was feeling – or what had even happened.

It was like everything had gone numb and there was a strange static silence in his head as Rhia hustled him to the medical wing where a droid was forced to set his broken arm and began to apply a strange blue goo to the livid bruising that patterned his body and face.

Grakkus' rage when he found out was terrible.

Harry's first time was supposed to be his, or to be sold at auction, depending on Grakkus' whim at the time. Rhia was punished severely for letting Harry out of her sight – she ended up in the medical bay with him, just as battered and bruised, but for vastly different reasons.

He stared up at the dim ceiling at he had no idea when, he still didn't feel all together there, like a part of him was missing or that something had been turned off in his brain or shut down. Rhia was awake, he knew she was, and he also knew they were alone as his eyes traced the cracks that spidered out from the light fixtures that he couldn't even see in the gloom.

“I think... I hate them,” he finally admitted quietly, faintly surprised at the fact, his voice rasping and wrecked from screaming and other things. Tasting like rubbing alcohol smelt – that blue goop they smeared on his bruises that felt like deep heat, they coated the inside of his mouth with it and forced him to swallow a diluted mixture with some strange powder to render it inert once it struck stomach acid.

“I know,” Rhia said.

And then, “I do too. We all do.”

Harry nodded slowly. “What can we do?”

“.....Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Huttese:** Haku Beet? "What is this?"  
>  **Huttese:** Chess ko, Lorda! Bukee maya. Rundee do lightsabre an ikabunga je. Hasa punyoo. "Be careful, Boss! Idiot boy activated the lightsabre and surprised me. He dropped it."
> 
>  **Mando:** Sa ibic "Like this"  
>  **Mando:** Jii gar "Now you"  
>  **Mando:** Jate. Projor. "Good. Next."  
>  **Mando:** Sur'haai olar "Eyes here."  
>  **Mando:** Sur'haai "Watch / lit: Eyes"  
>  **Mando:** Ara'novor "Defend"  
>  **Mando:** Tug'yc "Again"
> 
> * * *
> 
> Grakkus stands out from the other hutts in a lot of ways, one of them is that he likes to believe he is superior to them because he has **standards** , hence why he's an utter unmitigated piece of shit, but he isn't a monster like his younger brother who is free to get fat off his elder brother's successes, money, toys, just about everything, without having to lift a finger himself. Don't worry, Bunga will meet a sticky end eventually, but Harry's bad times are about to get an awful lot worse now that his market value just dropped 8(
> 
> As always, there will be warnings, and I promise nothing will be graphic if only for my own mental health.


End file.
